


Capture

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Janeway’s tired and B’Elanna’s not.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/B'Elanna Torres
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Capture

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She’s late, again, because there’s always _something_ , and if anyone should have to linger behind to investigate every nook and cranny of the universe, it’s the captain. For the most part, Kathryn enjoys that duty. If Harry Kim pulls a double shift, she can _order_ him to bed by the third, but few dare to call her out when she occupies the captain’s chair for twenty-four hours straight. Her chief engineer tends to stay up too, because nothing gets B’Elanna’s blood pumping like space and _science_ , but this particular phenomenon was more cultural misunderstandings than anything technology could fix. By the time Kathryn finally retires to her quarters, she’s well and truly _exhausted_.

She’s not surprised to stroll into her bedroom to find B’Elanna there anyway, waiting up under the dimmed red lights, PADD in hand. B’Elanna has a way of pushing past her limits that no pure human could achieve—Kathryn’s at a disadvantage. She sees the eye-catching black bra that covers B’Elanna’s ample chest, crisscrossing over her cleavage in a complicated pattern of pencil-thin straps, and Kathryn knows darn well that’s not their typical attire. B’Elanna isn’t dressed for sleeping—she’s dressed for _blowing off steam_ ; ship-wide crises tend to have a very different effect on her than Kathryn.

B’Elanna’s pulse quickens, her breath catches, she looks at her captain with _fire_ , and Kathryn just knows that when the trouble ends, her feral lover will be on her like a lioness closing in for the kill. 

Usually, that gets Kathryn as hot and bothered as B’Elanna looks now. Except in the moment, Kathryn barely has the strength to stand, let alone to _fuck_. She offers a weak smile of acknowledgement as she marches into the washroom, not pausing to be drawn in by B’Elanna’s acknowledgement. She goes through the motions of brushing her teeth and brushing out her hair like an android on auto-pilot. She’s just struggled out of her uniform when she stumbles out, slipping on her usual pink nightgown that goes right to the floor. 

She avoids B’Elanna’s eyes as she comes to the bed, and then she’s slipping under the covers on her side. She hears the PADD clatter to the nightstand and feels the mattress dip with B’Elanna’s movement—B’Elanna comes right to her side. Kathryn mutters around a yawn, “I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day...”

“Yeah,” B’Elanna agrees, because she was present for most of it. “It was touch and go there for a while, but once Neelix got through to the ambassador—” Kathryn’s second yawn cuts her off. Kathryn tries to lie down, but B’Elanna’s arm is suddenly around her back, propping her up. A disarmingly chaste kiss brushes her cheek, and B’Elanna murmurs in her ear, “You work too hard.”

Kathryn snorts. “Well, we don’t all have Klingon stamina.” She can see the grin in her peripherals before she closes her eyes. It’s tempting to loll her head onto B’Elanna’s shoulder and simply sleep there. 

B’Elanna suggests, “How about a Klingon massage?”

Kathryn makes the mistake of looking back. B’Elanna smiles sweetly, lovingly, a softer expression than what she’s wearing: her favourite lingerie for fierce domination or submission. The way the glossy material perfectly cups her breasts is an effective distraction; for a moment, Kathryn gets too lost in eyeing B’Elanna’s soft curves to be skeptical of anything Klingon. 

She nods dazedly, because B’Elanna really is _beautiful_ , and Kathryn really does adore her. 

At first, it’s the right decision. B’Elanna’s hand falls from Kathryn’s shoulder to the small of her back, lightly rubbing circles while B’Elanna herself moves across the mattress. She slots between Kathryn and the headboard, bent forward by the slant of the bulkhead, wrapping around Kathryn completely as both hands go to work on her. Incredibly talented fingers push through the thin fabric of her nightgown, kneading out knots she didn’t even know she had. It isn’t long until she’s letting out a languid moan, because oh, it feels _good_.

And then some of her hair is being swept over her shoulder, and B’Elanna’s hot breath is on the nape of her neck, a wet tongue tracing her skin. Kathryn moans again, loader, and it turns into a strangled cry as B’Elanna bites down, digging a fierce bruise into her body. 

She should’ve known. For all B’Elanna’s displeasure with Klingon culture, she can never seem to shake the violence completely. There are times when it’s useful. Times when it’s _delightful_. This shouldn’t be one, but as B’Elanna’s body’s rolls against Kathryn’s back and her mouth sucks at the tip of Kathryn’s spine, things change. Kathryn’s still tired, but she can’t deny she’s _interested_. She can feel B’Elanna’s full chest flattened against her shoulder blades. B’Elanna’s skilled strokes have danced around her sides and wrapped around her stomach, run down between her legs—B’Elanna cups her through the silky material and raises one finger in _just_ the right spot. Kathryn’s hips buck into it beyond her control. She groans as one bite becomes another, then a third, moving across her back and likely leaving big, angry red circles that may as well be tattoos of B’Elanna’s name. 

B’Elanna pushes her forward and down until she’s catching herself on her hands and bracing herself on her knees. B’Elanna’s bearing over her, growling low, “ _I missed you._ ” Kathryn has nothing left. She’s trembling from two very different sensations, teetering on the edge of collapse. B’Elanna holds her steady and plays with her while she waits. But B’Elanna has some mercy and does murmur, “If you really _need_ to sleep, I’ll stop...”

That command is on the tip of Kathryn’s tongue. One word and it would all be over—she can fall into her bed and drown in dreams, can even send B’Elanna away to other quarters to prevent the temptation of cuddling and grinding. But then B’Elanna’s hot tongue licks a long line up her spine, and Kathryn sighs, “What the hell.” 

She’s too tired to drive it. But she drops like a ton of bricks and rolls onto her back, looking up with pure surrender. B’Elanna smiles down at her: a hungry predator Kathryn never could escape. 

“You have the conn, Lieutenant.”

B’Elanna chuckles and comes down for a kiss, ready to engage.


End file.
